


Trust Me

by TheQueen



Series: Finding Love [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, Cheating, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is very rarely easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish._

_Barbra Smith_

...

Dwalin found out they had a new neighbor when he'd quite literally run into him in the hallway.

"I'm so, so terribly sorry," he'd cried, dropping to his knees and grabbing everything he could into a semi-neat pile as he attempted to help Dwalin pick up the groceries and books and papers that had fallen in their collision. "I swear, I always do this. I'm so clumsy and I never look where I'm going. My friends are always telling me that I ought to look where I'm going 'cause I'd take a tumble down the stairs one of these days and now look at me! I've gone and made a terrible..."

Dwalin silenced him with a firm pat on the shoulder and tried not to chuckle when the poor thing winced. He hadn't gripped him that hard.

But yet again, the man was a small thing, shorter than even Thorin with a head of thick brown curls and freckles. He was a bit on the plump side, as well, but that was all right. Rarely was anyone as fit or as large as himself. In fact, Dwalin would even go as far as to say he was a bit cute looking...like one of those small woodland creatures he'd spy when Thorin and he visited the Durin Ancestral Home in the country. 

"Name's Dwalin," he introduced himself, "And its all right. Nothing broken. Nothing split." Though that was a lie. The eggs were probably ruined. 

"Bilbo Baggins," he replied, calmer though still flushed in embarrassment, "And I feel horrible about this. At least...at least let me help you put these things away and pay for anything that was broken."

Dwalin shrugged. All right, who was he to turn down free labor?

...

Thorin had been home that day, which was rare. He usually didn’t get home until around 6 or 7pm on weekdays.

Dwalin had warned Thorin he was taking on too much, but he hadn’t listened. On top of the four college classes he’d signed up for that semester, he’d taken an unpaid internship that required his presence from 3pm to 5pm at least three times a week,  _plus_  a paid job at the coffee shop around the corner,  _plus_  community service work working on a drafting a new park for the city. It wasn't strange that he was exhausted all the time.

But that day had been a rare day off. His teacher had canceled and he had already been to the office three times that week and he was  _this_  close to finishing the draft and he didn’t have a shift at the shop. So Thorin had spent the whole day in bed, which Dwalin wasn't one to complain about. He was only human after all. 

But at around 1 pm, Dwalin had had to admit that it was time to rise and had decided to head to the store when Thorin had whined about the lack of eggs for breakfast. Which had lead to Dwalin bumping into his poor new neighbor in the hallway.

They were a quarter of the way through the five bags of groceries that Dwalin had managed to lug up the three flights of stairs to their apartment when Thorin finally entered their kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging pajama bottoms. Dwalin couldn't help but puff up a bit in pride when he noticed Bilbo trying not to stare at his lover’s - and what a stupid name for what they were even though it was the only one that really  _fit_  - ass.

"I didn’t know we had company," Thorin greeted as he grabbed the box of cereal Dwalin had just placed in the pantry. 

"Thought you wanted eggs," Dwalin asked as he threw away said eggs - broken just as he'd expected - in a way he hoped Bilbo didn't notice, The stubborn idiot, didn't he understand that Dwalin didn't want his money.  

Thorin hummed in agreement as he struggled to open the plastic bag that held the cereal. Pretending to scowl, Dwalin took the box, ignoring the whine of protest, and efficiently opened the package, “Idiot," he grinned fondly as he passed the box back.

Thorin muttered a soft thank you through a handful of cereal he’d just stuffed into his mouth. Grabbing another handful to munch on, he turned to search the cabinets for a bowl. Not for the first time, Dwalin made a note to organize the cabinets into some form of order.

"Bilbo," their neighbor suddenly piped up from where he’d been standing holding a carton of milk.

Thorin paused as he brought the bowl down to look Bilbo up and down before focusing on the milk carton in his hand. Dropping the remaining cereal in his hand into the bowl, he reached over to pluck the milk from Bilbo’s hand and smiled, “Thorin."

"I…I’m the n-new neighbor," Bilbo blushed.

Dwalin bit his lips to keep from laughing as he watched Thorin preen under the attention from their neighbor, the bloody peacock.

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood," Thorin gave another flirtatious smile before turning so that his back was to Bilbo and winked at Dwalin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend._

_Albert Camus_

...

After that, Bilbo becomes a frequent visitor in their lives.

It wouldn't be rare for Dwalin to return home from his evening shift at the Senator's office to find Bilbo and Thorin bent over the kitchen counter talking about one of Thorin's designs—and Dwalin wished Thorin wasn't so practical that he would at least try to get his art seen—or one of Bilbo's poems—because of course the Bilbo would be a writer with his frumpy cardigans and rather large glasses. Once Dwalin had returned home with the shopping at 9 am on a Saturday to see Bilbo eating his cereal and hadn't batted an eyelash that was how easily Bilbo had slid into their lives.

And surprisingly, Dwalin did not mind ... much.

Bilbo was a good guy. Funny and a bit on the poetic side, but overall a guy you wouldn't mind heading out for a drink. He was like a looser version of Dwalin's own rather stuffy, academic brother, Balin. And sure, Bilbo was a more Thorin’s friend than his but that didn't mean Dwalin couldn't hold a decent conversations with a guy. If nothing else, working in the politics had taught Dwalin to pay attention to get friendly with folks, and politics was always an interesting discussion.

In fact, the only thing keeping Dwalin from being Bilbo's friend was the way Bilbo had no shame when it concerned his lover's ass.

Now Dwalin didn’t consider himself one of those possessive types. Certainly, he was prone to fits of jealousy, but who wouldn’t be when their lover was known for drawing eyes where said eyes had no right looking. But they were always short lived and never expressed where Thorin could hear (he made that mistake once, nice way to meet the half-brother, Frerin). He knew who Thorin came home to at night and that was good enough for him.

But this … this wasn’t jealousy. This was annoyance.

Certainly, at first he found it cute. Ego stroking even. After all, it wasn’t like he didn't have eyes. Dwalin knew what he looked like. He was a too large and too brutish looking. And most of the time, he didn't mind. It certainly gave him the one up at times. Most of the time, he didn’t even have to say anything, just sort of stand there and frown. Didn't mean it didn't sting when people refused to believe he was a PoliSci Major and had never played football in his life, but that's how life was. And he didn't regret his tattoos. Each one was important and two of them were for his Ma so how could he regret them?

If life was anything like the movies, there was no way that someone like Thorin would have ended up with someone like Dwalin. So it was a bit nice, seeing someone lust over Thorin and know he had chosen Dwalin above all others.

But then the touching had started. At first it was innocent, but then he kept touching in places that bordered friendly for lengths of time that made Dwalin distinctively uncomfortable.

And at first he'd tried to convince himself it was nothing, that it was him being irrational. But then even Thorin had begun to shy away from Bilbo’s touches.

After that he had taken to going to the gym after work to pound out some of his frustration to make sure he didn't do something he'd regret like break his neighbor'sfingers. Cause he knew he couldn't do anything.

The one time Dwalin’d brought it up to Thorin, he'd brushed it off chalking it up to a simple crush.

"He doesn't know anyone, Dwalin," Thorin insisted with a smile as he cracked two eggs for the cake—it was Dis' birthday and they wanted to surprise her with a homemade cake but Dwalin had bought a back up just in case—"So he's gone and developed a bit of a crush on the only friend he's made so far. It'll go away soon."

Dwalin grumbled in agreement and continued shifting the flouer.

"Nothing to worry about," Thorin grinned as he leaned forward to peck at Dwalin's lips, "He'll get over it."

...

In retrospect, Dwalin can admit that he didn't keep as cool a head as he could have. That he got mad. That he acted rash. That he acted cruel. But he wasn't the only one.

Thorin hadn't even tried. He'd just ... he'd disappeared long before he left. And all Dwalin had left was this damned nagging fear that maybe … that maybe Thorin had never loved him as much as Dwalin thought he had.

...

Three weeks later, Thorin came home two hours early and just collapses on the sofa in a fit of sighs.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Dwalin asked setting down his papers and going over to kneel by Thorin's head.

"Mmmmhmmmm."

"School?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Friends?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Work?"

There was a pause. "Ummhmm."

"Your bossing picking on you, again?" Dwalin asks, running his hand through Thorin's lion’s mane.

Finally, Thorin lifted his face from the pillow and turned his head to look Dwalin in the eye. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" Dwalin asked and tried to keep the panic out of his voice. That was a rather vague statement. And he did not like it. He did not like it at all.

"Work," Thorin shrugs, sitting up so Dwalin can take a seat next to him and hug him properly. "School. Projects and stuff." And it was interesting to note that Thorin said "stuff" in the same way one would say "murder."

"So what do you want to do?" Is there anything he can do? He was on contract with the internship and the project was nearly complete. To drop out, he would be setting back the project by months and it was good work experience, which is not something Thorin would be forgiving himself for missing.

"What can I do?" Thorin groaned, shoulders falling as he buried his face in his hands. "I'll just deal with it."

"Okay." Dwalin said, "We'll deal with it. Project is almost over. It's going to be okay."

"Yeah," Thorin nodded, picking his face out of his hands. "Yeah. Almost done. We can do it."

…

Dwalin should have known better.

...

Two weeks later Thorin loses his job.

"The worst part is part of me is grateful," Thorin says after a moment, "That I don't have to be working there anymore."

"I know," Dwalin said.

"But that's terrible because we need the money." Thorin continued, "We really do. I mean, how am I going to pay off my loan interest this month plus the bills?"

Dwalin doesn't say anything for a moment. "You could always call -"

"No." Thorin cuts him off. "No. I will not. I will not go begging to that bastard. I’d rather starve first.”

"Okay then," Dwalin sighed. "I'll just pull extra hours at work until you get a new job. We'll make it work, Thorin."

Thorin just nods. They’ll make it work.

...

After that, it was Dwalin who is rarely home. His days went from a 12pm-5pm every other days to 12pm-7pm everyday so that when he finally dragged himself home with his brain fried from spending too many hours doing the grunt work of the political process he wants to do nothing but sleep.

Thorin is nothing but understanding and Dwalin is grateful. Even when he decides to stay in instead of go out with friends, Thorin doesn't force him to go despite his obvious irritation. Dwalin wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle a fight right then.

Only once does Dwalin ask Thorin if he would call his grandfather to help so Dwalin could take lighter hours...

That evening hadn't ended well.

Overall it wasn't that bad. If only he would stop coming home to Thorin and Bilbo.

Looking back, he knows there wasn't anything he could have done—not like he could stop Thorin from having friends—but he wishes he could have seen the signs earlier so it wouldn't have hurt so much.

Once, after the fourth month, Dwalin comes home to see Bilbo and Thorin near (and he knows better now, but at the time he thought "near") cuddling. When Thorin sees him, he immediately pulls away and makes to get up. He had been crying. Dwalin could see it in the red of his eyes.

But Dwalin is too hurt to care.

"Don't mind me," he grumbles, dropping his bad in the hall and shucking off his coat. He is too exhausted for a fight. And he’s been taught better than to make a scene in front of company.

If Thorin says something, Dwalin doesn't hear him.

...

After that things are tense.

Things are really, really tense.

And part of Dwalin, a part large than he anticipated, is ok with that. He doesn't like people, which is why he rarely goes out with friends—though Thorin went often enough for the both of them. And with his hours at the office dealing with inters and volunteers and other employees (and that how he thinks of them truly. He is never one for making friends easily), he has very little patients left. So he is ok with the fact that Thorin has stopped trying to drag him away from his books and go out. It isn't like they don't talk. Rather, Thorin is paying more adherences to his boundaries, which is actually kind of nice.

Of course, Bilbo is still coming around, but Dwalin resolves not to say anything. He tries to be friendly, but most of the time he just ducks out of conversation and goes to their room.

At some point, Bilbo starts to look scared of him.

But there were moments when he felt the tension grow so thick he gets scared. When he would climb into bed and feel the cold spot to his left where once there was a warm body or when he would come home to an empty apartment—once he went to Bilbo's and pressed his ear against the door and tried not to cry when he heard Thorin's voice inside—he would want to break their peace.

But he doesn't know how. And so he let it be: his great mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

_If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading._

_Lao Tzu_

...

May hits Dwalin hard.

It is always like this--or so he's told--when you're working for an incumbent; election season starts the minute the flowers bloom. And since Dwalin is part of the public relations department, his days are packed screening phone calls and letters while looking for any malicious rumors or ads that need countering. He is the youngest so he ends up with the grunt work that can't be trusted to the interns (he'd joined mid-June last year when their Rep had just settled into her seat).

When he finally manages to get to his class work, his head is so occupied with figuring out how to counteract the sixth anti-Obamacare = anti-America ad that he isn't able to focus on reading let along memorizing his latest set of Chinese characters.

Luckily most of his teaches are allowing him a few breaks (except for his art class, but he can cope). So all-in-all, the work load looks manageable enough. Granted his relationship problems have been put on hold until post-graduation (not that he really minds) and even Thorin is way too busy to be worry about their love life.

So of course that is the moment, he screws it all up.

...

Dwalin is half way through his fourth cup of coffee of the evening and finishing up editing the statement they were going to release to the Times next week when he hears “Dwalin, can you come in?”

He sets his fourth cup of coffee down and gets out of his chair and ambles into Erika’s office. He likes Erika. When he’d first joined, it had been her who had shown him around the office and helped him get to know everyone. It wasn’t like they talked a lot outside of work, but Dwalin likes to imagine she likes him as well. She’s never rude or irritable towards him and, sometimes, she brings him coffee because they’re the only ones who like their coffee more sugar then anything else and they bounded over the hatred of black coffee in the kitchen a few months ago.

So when she sees she is frowning, he is worried. Even if they were sorta friendly, Erika was still his boss and an angry boss was never good news.

“Morning,” he greets, tries to smile but can’t help but feel the worry is obvious on his face, and takes the seat in front of her desk.

At least she doesn’t beat around the bush, at least he can say that, “I’m sorry, Dwalin,” she starts. And after that Dwalin can feel his heart drop.

The representative was dropping out of the race in the face of some ugly adultery rumors in an attempt to fix his marriage. As such, there was no more work for the public relations people. “I like you,” she said, “So I wanted to explain the situation personally. I’m willing to write you a review, Dwalin. You did good work here and I’d hate for this to be a set back in your career.”

In the end, Dwalin thanks her, walks out, collects his coat, and grabs a cab, unable to return to his desk and finish his work or even grab his laptop. As the cab heads towards his apartment, he calls Thorin only for the call to cut off and receive a text. Apparently, Thorin was out with Bofur and Bifur and couldn’t talk right then. In other words, he was out of the house.

Dwalin thought about their apartment. Their quiet apartment, empty, with the one leaky facet and the neighbors who screamed all the time ever since they’d lost the baby and the prospect of returning filled him with such dread that he felt like crying. Crying actually, blubbering, snot-filled tears. And so he tapped the cabbie and asked for the closet bar because he wasn’t quite ready to admit how far he had fallen in the span of ten minutes.

…

Dwalin wakes up to the banging of pots against counter top in the kitchen. For a moment, all he can do is lie there, starring up at the ceiling where a set of shadows danced in a sort of morbid puppet show before the need to vomit propels him towards the bathroom.

Once his body has caught up to the fact that he had nothing left to throw up, Dwalin begins washing up, carefully brushing every centimeter of his teeth and washing his face three times so that he feels at least a little more human before venturing out into the kitchen where the noise had been replaced with bubbling water.

Thorin is leaning over the sink; his back tight and shoulders tense. He is muttering to himself something Dwalin can’t make out and he does his best to make a little noise as he enters the kitchen so Thorin knows he’s here.

“I got a call, last night, from Ricky’s,” Thorin starts, “That my boyfriend has fallen asleep at the bar.”

Dwalin takes a seat and doesn’t say anything. He knows Thorin needs to get this out of his system and he knows he deserves it.

“That apparently he came in and began drinking around 2pm and didn’t stop. That apparently he blew about $150 at the bar and refused to tell anyone was wrong and apparently didn’t feel the need to call me and…” Thorin smacks the counter and breaths hard. He tries for a moment to collect himself, Dwalin can see it in the way he tightens his shoulders before it looks leaves him and Thorin collapses inwards, crosses his arms more like he’s trying to hold himself together and turns around so Dwalin can see the puffiness of his eyes, the red-blotchiness of his cheeks. “Dwalin….?”

And Dwalin knows it’s a plea to explain what is going on, too prove Thorin’s fears wrong, but he doesn’t know how. He knew, four drinks in that what he was doing was stupid, but he couldn’t stop. He knew he should have texted Thorin back that it was an emergency, that he needed him. Thorin would have come. He knows that. Even hungover and feeling like scum on earth, he knows that. But…but he hadn’t wanted to bother him and had their relationship fallen apart so fast?

“I lost my job.” Dwalin says because it’s all he can think about. But it’s more than that. It’s not just the job. It’s the stress and their relationship and Bilbo, but how can he say that. How can he dare even consider telling Thorin that this is somehow his fault? That he is too blame?

“So you get drunk? You don’t call? You don’t…” Thorin shakes his head.

“I did…” Dwalin starts, “I did call but…” _you were with Bifur and Bofur and you’re drifting away and I don’t know if you love me as much as I love you and I want you back and when did I lose you and why are we here and what can I do to fix this? I want to fix this,_ Dwalin screams in his mind, _I want to fix this. I want to fix this. I want to fix this._

He just doesn’t know how.

He feels so very, very lonely.

“I can’t do this,” Thorin says, pushing himself away from the counter that he was leaning against. He reaches over and places a plate full of eggs and orange slices in front of Dwalin and says, “I just need to…I need space. I’ll be at Dori’s if you need me.” And then he leaves the kitchen, opens the closet, puts on his coat, opens the front door, and closes the front door while Dwalin just keeps starring at that plate of eggs, still hot.

…

Of course, it doesn’t help that Dwalin loses his job just as finals come rolling around with graduation nipping right at his heel. As classmates around him get excited for the careers they’d be starting as soon as they got their diplomas, all Dwalin felt was worthlessness. A few weeks ago, he’d been thinking how he had already started his career. How he had gotten ahead of them, beaten them. Won the game. And now here he was. Jobless with bills pilling up in the corner of their living room like a mountain of doom just waiting to crush him.

They’d cut the heating and reduced the power, turning on lights only when they have to. Instead of using the Laundromat instead of the washer and dryer Dwalin had worked so hard to buy Thorin who had always complained about how the walk to and back with the basket of clothes always left him with a backache. And showers were taken cold instead of hot.

Twice now. Twice, he had begged Thorin to contact, not his Grandfather (never him, never again), his brother. Frerin … Dwalin could admit he knew little of Thorin’s half-brother, even less about the circumstances that had lead to Frerin being named heir over Thorin (though Thorin would assure him it was for the best). But he did know the relationship between the two brothers ( _half-brothers_ a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Thorin stressed) used to be as close as blood brothers, but things, things he didn’t like talking about, happened. Things he only knew about because he’d been there in the aftermath when Thorin had been just picking up the pieces and trying to restart his life.

(It was one of the reasons why he couldn’t shake the guilt, the knowing heavy weight of guilt, from his shoulders and why Thorin is still stone silent when they go to bed. Drinking was not a problem. Drunkenness was. And Dwalin knew that. He knew what it meant to Thorin and he knew the dangers in his only family, how prone they were to the damned bottle—bless his mother, he loved her more than she deserved and he knew it and Balin liked to remind him of it—but he still went and got pissed enough that Thorin had to come pick him up. And how many times had he had to do that for his father?)

But each time Thorin would shut him down with a look, a single broken look that made Dwalin’s voice catch in his throat and any argument that he could make would die before the words could leave his mouth. One day, he hopes Thorin will tell him what happened with Frerin. Just like he hopes one day Dís will not have to play peacemaker between the brothers.

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Which was why Dwalin found himself drinking tea with his book-obsessed mother hen of a brother and feeling content for the first time in weeks.

“You know I can’t help too much,” Balin admits at the end of his story. “My desecration is taking up most of my time and the University only pays so much.”

“I know,” Dwalin says and he hates this. Because he knows his brother. He knows that Balin will always feel the need to raise him. He knows his brother will try to give more than he can afford because Balin looks at Dwalin and doesn’t see the 5’9” bear of a man, but the 5 year old boy who asked his 10 year old brother when Mama was coming home this time and when Papa would come out of his room. He knows this, which is why he didn’t want to ask Balin for help. Because Balin has already given so much—his childhood, his dream job, and his almost home—for him and Dwalin wants so much to give back instead of just take.

But desperation calls for desperate measures and he promises himself, not for the first time, that he will pay his brother back. Somehow. 

“I’m sorry,” Dwalin adds.

Balin shakes his head and refills Dwalin’s cup, “Never apologize for asking help from family,” Balin scolded. “Does Thorin know you’re here?”

Dwalin snorted, “You know he doesn’t. He’s too stubborn.”

Balin hummed in agreement.

“He doesn’t want to admit how bad our situation is,” Dwalin continued, “He won’t ask Frerin for help”—and Dwalin knew Balin still spoke to the other brother—“And asking Dís is not something he’d ever tolerate. Not since Víli fell sick again.”

“He’s a Durinson,” Balin says as if it explains everything and Dwalin knows it should but it doesn’t stop Dwalin from grumbling about the “stubbornness of Durins.”

“Thank you though,” Dwalin says but Balin just shushes him. “That’s what family is for,” he insists and then asks him if he wants to stay for dinner.

…

When Dwalin finally comes home, Thorin is on the sofa watching reruns of Friends with a beer and what looks like spaghetti and meatballs.

“I though you were out with Dís,” Dwalin says in greeting. _Or else I would have told you to come to Balin’s._

Thorin looked at him for a moment before returning his eyes to the screen and taking a sip of beer (which was strange because Thorin was usually a social drinker but these past few weeks with work and school and stress had not been kind to either of them). “Where were you?”

“At Balin’s,” Dwalin said, shrugging off his coat and toeing off his shoes. He knows he should clean up, put the shoes in order so he doesn’t trip on them tomorrow on his way to his morning classes. But he feels lazy. “Sorry. I would have called but I thought you were out. He cooked.”

Thorin grunted, finished the beer and shut the TV off before tossing the remote to the side. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay…” Dwalin said, shifting from foot to foot. He was still holding his coat and part of him wanted to put it back on and leave, but instead he hangs it up by the door and says, “I’m going to finish reviewing some of Chinese and then I’ll join you.”

Thorin doesn’t respond, just closes the bedroom door with a hard thump of wood against wood. And then there is silence.

Dwalin spends the night on the coach.


	4. Chapter 4

_To those who have given up on love: I say, “Trust life a little bit.”_

_Maya Angelou_

…

Graduation was probably the most emotionally draining, terrifying and exhilarating day Dwalin had every experienced in probably his entire lifetime (other than maybe high school graduation and hopefully topped by his someday wedding though Thorin had never really been the marrying type so he’d have to see). From morning to dusk, Dwalin, Thorin and all their friends had done nothing but prepare. Hair, clothes, and speeches … everything had to be perfect because…well because this was his last time wasn’t it? No more graduations. No more classes. No more homework or teachers or academia. Now he was out. Done. Ready to pursue bigger and better things (unless he changed his mind and went to grad school and some part of him wanted to while the rest remembered why he said no in the first place and it was shaped like a dollar sign). This was the start of the rest of his life, wasn’t it?

Thorin was going to grad school though, Dwalin thought, glancing over at his boyfriend who was sitting next to him, talking to Fíli as Dís caught up with the others. Ever since Víli had fallen ill with his second bout of breast cancer, Dís hadn’t had much time to come out and socialize, busy being a—in all practicality— single mother to a rambunctious two year old. But she was doing wonderful.

Dwalin had always known she would make a good mother; even scared and conflicted as a young woman of 18 and recently disowned with her boyfriend not that well off to begin with. And even with all the fear and confusion that had defined that time, the one thing Dwalin hadn’t been worried about was if she chose to keep the pregnancy—which she had—then she would be a brilliant mother. And while Dwalin adores Fíli like a nephew, there is still a whisper in the back of Dwalin’s mind that thinks she would have been better off terminating, going to college, and choosing to marry later if she still wanted to. But that wasn’t his decision to make and he wouldn’t refuse Dís’ right to make her choices. And now she was living her life on her terms. She was making do with her choices.

And now he supposed so was he.

Lost in thought, it took him a moment to recognize the sound of pounding footsteps for what they were and when he did, he braced himself.

“Dwalin!”

Only habits kept him from flinching as a small, red blur hit him, pushing him off his chair and onto Thorin’s lap, causing Fíli to shriek in laughter and Thorin to freeze.

“Hey, Nori,” Dwalin grunted, attempting to push the red head off of him only for Nori to cling harder like the damned monkey that he was. Every single time, too! And people wondered why he only sometimes went out.

“It’s been so damned long, you asshole,” Nori scowled, getting up so he was straddling Dwalin’s hips and Dwalin was forced to admit that resistance was futile and so shifted a bit so his head was more comfortably pillowed in Thorin’s lap. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Nori, there is a child here,” Thorin replied, dryly as he pressed his hands around Fíli’s ears.

Nori rolled his eyes, “The little bastard has no idea what I’m saying.”

“Nori,” Dwalin sighed, “Really?”

Nori pretended to pout before admitting defeat with a dramatically sighed, “Only for you, darling.”

“Mmmmhmmmm.”

“But still,” Nori snapped, pointing at Dwalin so that Dwalin had to go cross-eyed to see his finger, “Where have you been, Mister?”

“Work,” Dwalin grumbled, “Will yea’ get off?”

“See, you’ve been gone so long you forgot how it goes,” Nori was pouting for real now, “I sit, you grumble, we banter, Dís mothers, Thorin is the grump as usual—and he seems to be playing his part well” he grinned, “—Fíli is the same adorable asshat he usually is, and the rest act just as crazy as I do.”

“I see…” Dwalin raised an eyebrow and smiled, “Is _that_ how it works?”

“Yup.”

Dwalin fought the urge to roll his eyes just as his world tilted back and he felt his head fall onto the sofa. Tilting his head back, he asked, “Thorin?”

Thorin smiled but it looked slightly off but that was probably because he was watching the world work upside down. “I’m gonna grab something to eat. Feeling a bit nervous.”

Dwalin nodded as much as he could, “There’s your favorite in the freezer if you want to heat it up.”

Thorin’s face seemed to waiver before he nodded, “All right, you want any?”

“Nah,” Dwalin said, “I’m good.” Dwalin watched Thorin walk away before looking back at Nori who was wearing a rather funny face. It looked…almost concerned?

“Trouble in paradise?” he joked.

“Things have been tough,” Dwalin admitted, sitting up as Nori got off and sat down on the coach like a normal human being “You know how I lost my job right?”

Nori nodded.

“Bills are…” Dwalin sighed, “Not fun. And it’s been a bit of a strain. Balin is helping but…” Well everyone knew that the brothers didn’t have a lot of money to pass between them.

“You two will get through this,” Nori reassured him, “Never seen two people as in love as you two dunderheads. Money won’t drive you apart.”

Dwalin thanked him though he couldn’t agree. It wasn’t the money he was worried about after all...And as if summoned by the devil in walked Bilbo and Dwalin closed his eyes in preparation to make nice.

…

“We’re done.” Dwalin sighs, dropping onto the coach after throwing his shoes in the corner. He is exhausted, emotionally and physically, from the graduation and the after-party and the after-after-party and part of him wants to crawl into bed but the rest is too keyed up to consider it. The room is spinning a little too slowly which means he’s too sheets from hammered and four from wasted. Glancing down at the degree in his hand, he traced the letters almost relevantly. “It’s done.”

“Yeah,” Thorin sighs, dropping his onto the table and walking into the kitchen. From the living room, Dwalin hears him open and close the cupboards a few times before Thorin re-enters holding two glasses and a good bottle of scotch.

“Where’d we get this?” Dwalin asks, accepting the bottle when it is handed to him and unscrews the top after two unsuccessful tries because his hands are shaking from liquor and adrenaline and he makes a note he’s sure he’ll forget to thank Bofur for dropping them off.

“Dori,” Thorin lies. Thorin had always been a shitty poker player to anyone who knew him and had a habit of scratching his thump with his index finger when he lied. _Bilbo_ , Dwalin corrects and doesn’t understand why Thorin would feel the need to lie (or maybe he does but he doesn’t want to admit it) but he’s too tired to get angry and too happy (shocked? confused?) to ruin a good evening.

Pouring two glasses, Dwalin holds out his for a cheers, “To the rest of our lives, huh?”

“To the rest of our lives,” Thorin echoes before downing the whole glass, “I say we fuck adulthood and get smashed.”

Dwalin laughs and chugs the rest of his glass, “I fucking love you.”

Thorin pauses and then grins and pours them another two glasses, “I love you too.”

…

Two weeks later, during a hot-hot day in June when they have the air conditioning off because the job market is as dead as ever though Thorin is starting in August at a Perkins + Will and that can only mean good things. So things are looking up.

Is Dwalin still nervous and lost and confused? Jobless and struggling with the realization that he can’t support and protect those he cares for most as he sucks like a leach at his brother’s poor financial stability? And still sitting on rocky territory in terms of his love life? Oh yeah. Completely and without a doubt. Dwalin is a mess. But…but doesn’t that mean he’s hit rock bottom? And he’s done that before. He’s lost how many times he has fallen to his knees and pushed himself back up with nothing but the strength of his broken arms.

He’s learned the hard way that life sucks. That sometimes a mother is too busy looking at a bottle to look at her son. That sometimes a father is too lost to guide his children. That a grandmother is five feet from death. And that a brother can only take so much before he needs a little help, a tiny support that might not reach past his knees—not yet—but that can be enough. It can be enough.

He’s told himself that since he was seven. There’s no reason to start doubting himself now.

So he gets up on that hot-hot day in June and turns to Thorin who is nestled against his side for the first time in months (and isn't that a sign), back sticky with sweat and hair fanned against the pillow like a dark halo if he wants to be poetic and more like a rat’s nest if he wants to be honest. But today is a day for poetics. And when Thorin rises with the heat to find Dwalin starring down at him with a smile that Thorin can’t help but return, Dwalin asks if he wants to go out.

Their first stop is the Park. Capital P because it’s the Park that drove Thorin near crazy designing. It isn’t finished. There are still areas under construction, but two of the areas are safe to walk through and they make their way along the winding paths as Thorin tells Dwalin how he came to certain decisions like the colors and the types of stones and some of it flies over Dwalin’s head, but he listens to the best of his ability and asks questions when needed. And when they get to the flower bridge, Dwalin pulls Thorin to the side and kisses him breathless in the shade of the implanted vines that make a canopy thick enough to protect them from the burn of the sun, if just for a little while.

After that, they catch a subway and head to SoHo where the restaurants are fantastic for lunch and afterwards stop in a small bakery that sell bite sized gourmet cupcakes where Thorin complains about the price but admits the flavors are delicious after popping a seasonal blueberry cupcake into his mouth in one go. Dwalin on the other hand manages to eat his in four bites, flavoring the $3 cupcake that is—in all honesty—a little bigger than his thumb. And mostly, he’s amazed by how much flavor they manage to pack into the little things and makes a note to thank Nori for the suggestion.

The next Wednesday, Dwalin gets a phone call and takes Thorin to a night club of the week that has a live jazz band and they sit in the corner and nurse their silly, fruity drinks and chat about their excitement for the next year and Dwalin tells him about a new job officer with the Govenor. In response, Thorin stops by the bakery near their house and buys a cheesecake even though he prefers chocolate with extra icing. And they snuggle on the coach, catch up with Flash and Green Arrow, and eat all of it in one go.

As they crawl into bed, Thorin complains about his need to go to the gym until Dwalin kisses him silent and one thing leads to another and there are hands and less clothes and it’s good and it’s great and Dwalin thinks for a moment in the aftermath, some three or so hours later, that this is the happiest he’s been in ages and certainly that must mean something. Certainly that must mean something.

When he wakes up, it is to Thorin’s kisses and a morning in the kitchen trying new recipes from a cookbook Thorin borrowed from Bomber that ends with flour smeared in Dwalin’s beard and in his hair and in his mouth which leads to an afternoon in the tub, using water they can’t afford to waste but not caring and then a dinner, fancier then anything they’ve had in months and that’s okay because for a moment Dwalin isn’t worried about money or cost or pride and he eats the thing that sounds vaguely French and vaguely Gaelic and it’s good. It is really, really fucking good.

And Dwalin is breathing again.

And the next is outing is planned by Thorin which leads to a flair of spontaneity that sends them hoping subways and exploring areas in a way they haven't in a long, long time until they come home, feet aching and bone tired and crawl into bed, holding onto each other for dear life as they succumb to sleep.

And after that it is normal for one or the other to make plans around the city. And sometimes they include their friends and family so one day Dwalin is chasing after Fíli in a crowded museum and the next he’s eating a delicious dinner at the Ur’s family restraint and the week after he and Thorin have caught a train to Hoboken just to taste an éclair at Carlos’ Bakery because they can’t stop watching Cake Boss reruns and feel like they know the family.

And soon June bleeds into July, which bleeds into August, and Dwalin is kissing Thorin good-bye as he heads into work and, in two weeks, a paycheck hits their bank accounts for the first time in months and all Dwalin can think of is how happy he is and how grateful he is and how everything is looking up.

And on his first day of work in September at the Governor’s office, Dwalin kisses Thorin good-bye as they head to different parts of the city and he can't for the life of him wonder why everything looked so terrible only two months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has now been discontinued for now.


	5. Sorry Guys!

Hello everyone, 

This is a note informing everyone that this story has been discontinued. I tried to edit it so that the stopping point makes sense as a good ending. Originally there was meant to be four more chapters but after the lack of feedback from the audience on the last chapter I started to feel like interest in this story had tappered off and became discouraged. I apologize to any future readers who feel that there should have been more to this story. One day, I might pick this story back up. I still have all the notes and unfinished chapters. But as of right now, please consider this story complete. 

Thank you for your understanding, 

TheQueen 


End file.
